Death Warmed Up
by Captain-Cheesecake
Summary: The fever should have been John's first clue. Something was definitely wrong. And it was sure to get worse before it got better.
1. Chapter 1

**I decided to do my first real Sherlock sick!fic and have chosen to make it a multi-chapter! I usually would make Sherlock the sick one, but I decided to challenge myself and make John the sick one instead. I only hope it pays off (crosses fingers). First chapter is a bit short, sorry about that, I just consider it an epilogue anyway. Hopefully they will get a little longer. I will update as soon as I can, but I have no set schedule.**

**Disclaimer; yeah, I don't own anything.**

**Well, without further ado, here it is!**

* * *

John felt like death.

There was literally no other explanation for it. He was tired, weak, a bit cold, and dear lord did he mention tired? He nearly fell asleep at his desk in the surgery (again) and only the thought of going home and resting kept him awake. He checked his watch every few minutes but time seemed to slow down and hours felt like millennia. Finally – after what felt like eternity – the clock said 8:30 and his shift ended. He grabbed his coat off of the rack and put it on with a deep sigh.

"You alright there, Dr. Watson?" The receptionist asked, tapping her pen against the table.

He put on a fake smile and rubbed his neck.  
"Yeah, just a bit tired."

She scoffed and ran a hand through her hair.  
"I understand that completely. Can't wait to go home and kip by the fireplace myself...Oh dear, I'm making myself tired. Have a good night, John."

John laughed.  
"You too, Gloria."

He waved and made his way outside in a hurry, hopping in the first empty cab he saw. he quickly muttered his address and focused on not falling asleep on the way home.

Upon arriving to Baker Street he fished through his wallet and passed a couple quid at the driver and slowly made his way up the stairs. When he got up there he had only two things on his mind. A) he was going to make himself some tea, and B) he was going to sleep. For a very long time.

When he reached the top of the stairs he saw Sherlock staring at the wall where he had papers and photos lined up for his latest case.

John sighed.  
"I see you've been busy..." He mumbled, heading to the kitchen to make his tea.

Sherlock hummed a reply and continued to focus on the paper covered wall.

John rolled his eyes and cleaned off the stove and turned on the kettle.  
"You could clean up your mess when you're done experimenting, y'know." He grumbled, rinsing out empty test tubes and throwing away mouldy cheese.

"Busy." Sherlock huffed, looking through a case folder.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  
"You didn't have a case this morning. When did Lestrade come by?"

"After you left, obviously."

John sighed and poured some water into his cup, grabbing a tea bag and setting it in the freshly boiled water.

"Milk and sugar for me." Sherlock called out with a little more volume.

John rolled his eyes.  
"You could _ask._"

"I just did." Sherlock said defensively.

Seriously? He was too tired for this.  
"That wasn't _asking_, Sherlock, that was _demanding_."

Sherlock sighed.  
"Can you put milk and sugar in my tea?"

Oh, close enough. John poured a second cup, put milk and sugar in it, and passed it to the detective.  
"There. Drink your tea and keep the noise down. I'm going to bed."

He set his empty cup in the sink and walked to the door.

"John?" Sherlock asked, causing him to turn around.

"Yeah?" He mumbled. He was just so tired...

"It's only 9:00." Sherlock pointed out, as if it were significant.

John sighed and rubbed his eyes.  
"I'm...I'm tired, alright? I just need some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

**A/N; again, sorry about the length. Will grow longer as plot progresses.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2! Yay! WOW at the follows, favourites and reviews! You lot are the best!  
I had meant to update a few days ago, but as luck would have it, I got sick! It delayed posting, but at least it inspired a few upcoming chapters!**

**Disclaimer; still don't own anything.**

* * *

To say that John had no desire to get out of bed the next morning would be an understatement. As far as he was concerned he could lie there until he died which, with the way he currently felt, couldn't be too far off. He felt as if he didn't sleep at all last night, even though he knew from the stiffness in his neck that he had slept for hours. His head pounded loudly in his ears and he had the overwhelming urge to cough. He swallowed and cleared his throat only to find that it felt as if it were on fire. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. He slowly opened his eyes and let them adjust to the bright sunlight from his window and turned to the night stand, checking the time. 8:47 AM. It felt much earlier than that. Time was moving oddly again, or was it him? He couldn't tell.

Despite not wanting to get out of bed, he forced himself to sit up and set his feet on the floor and grab his clothes, sluggishly pulling them on. He was a soldier, he wasn't about to let a little sore throat and a headache get to him.

After a few minutes he made it downstairs only to realise that every bone in his body was beginning to throb with a dull ache.

"Morning, John." Sherlock greeted him, seeming surprisingly more chipper than usual.

John looked up as he passed him.  
"Hmm? Yeah, good morning." he yawned widely, his throat burning all the more.

He took a quick looked around the kitchen and found that the food they had in did not sound very appetising at the moment. His stomach grumbled unpleasantly at the sight. Just tea then. He was fine with that. He pushed some experiments out of the way and washed his mug in the sink, thankful to find that Sherlock had already put the kettle on.

"Lestrade finished the case this morning." Sherlock announced, picking up a newspaper and sitting down on the sofa to read, sipping at his cup and laying it the coffee table.

John nodded, plopping down in the nearest chair with his warm tea in his hands.  
"Yeah, good. That's good."

"He had a couple of cold cases that he wanted me to look over. None of them were particularly interesting. However a potential client of mine may stop by later and your medical expertise may be of use. That is, unless you have to work today?"

John sighed and rested his head against his fist.  
"Yeah, shift starts at 10:00. I've got just enough time to shower."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and studied John for a few moments, looking at him in the way he looked at a victim when he was on a case. It made John very uncomfortable being on the receiving end of that glare.

"You have a headache." Sherlock said finally, proud of his deduction.

John nodded and rubbed his eyes.  
"Yeah. Nothing I can't handle."

"Why don't you take something? Paracetamol?"

John almost laughed. _Sherlock_ telling _him_ to take paracetamol. Usually it was the other way around.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm fine." He assured, standing to his feet. He made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water melted away the aches and pains in his joints and the crook in his neck. However, the cough and sore throat persisted to be a bother. He quickly dried and dressed when his watch alarm went off, warning him he only had twenty minutes to get to work.

He walked out of the bathroom and saw Sherlock preparing to play violin by the window.

"Try not to destroy anything while I'm gone." he warned before he shrugged his coat on.

* * *

It took all he could to focus when he arrived to work. He could hear his head pound in his ears and the urge to cough never seemed to go away. It caused him to lose his train of thought several times and soon became highly irritating.

And suddenly there was a knock at his door.

"John?" Sarah peeked in, chart in hand.

He looked up and swallowed, only it felt as if he had swallowed boiling water.  
"Yeah?" He croaked, grasping at his throat.

Sarah raised an eyebrow.  
"Are you feeling okay? You seemed a bit off when you came in today."

He scoffed, but that hurt too.  
"I'm fine, just...a little under the weather, that's all."

Sarah licked her lips.  
"I'm guessing you have a sore throat?"

John coughed into his hand, the movement causing his head to pound.  
"Yeah. I don't have stuffed sinuses or anything, I'm just a bit...tired."

Sarah pushed her eyebrows together.  
"I want to take your temperature. If it's any higher than 38° I want you to go home."

He sighed and rested his head against his hand.  
"I still have patents to see."

She shook her head.  
"I'll take care of it. You don't need to take care of the sick if you're sick yourself, John. You know that."

"Yeah, I know."

Sarah pulled out a clean thermometer and passed it to him.  
"Go ahead."

He swallowed and stuck it under his tongue for a few moments and waited until it beeped to give it back to Sarah.

She looked down at the thermometer and frowned.  
"39.2°." She announced, turning it so he could see.

John bit the inside of his cheek.  
"Not good, I see."

Sarah nodded in agreement.  
"Not good indeed, Dr. Watson. Go home and rest, John. Don't worry about anything here."

John nodded.  
"Alright. I'll try to repay you somehow."

"Fine by me. But for now just focus on getting better, yes?"

"I'll try." he tried to laugh but it only came out as a cough.

Sarah raised an eyebrow.  
"Ah, I would also prescribe a nice tea with a little honey, maybe some cough syrup. Don't forget to bring that fever down."

John tried to laugh again, this time with better result.  
"I'll keep that in mind."

He grabbed his coat and welcomed the warmth of the heavy fabric. He hadn't noticed how cold he had been before until now. A wave of dizziness swept over him and his vision fuzzed. He suddenly felt very tired and felt like collapsing.

He really needed to get home.

* * *

**A/N; everything I'm putting John through is from a mixture of a couple of my own experiences being ill.  
I feel so evil...  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the follows, reviews and get well wishes! You lot are the best! I'm fully recovered from my illness and have new inspiration for poor John.**

**This one is a bit more _comfort_ than _hurt/comfort_, but...well, I couldn't torture him the entire time.**

**Disclaimer; I don't own anything here. Simple as that.**

* * *

John stepped back into 221B and shivered. He could really feel the side effects of his fever now. Every single bone in his body ached and his head was throbbing so hard he could hear it in his ears. His vision swam not long ago when he left the surgery and he was still trying to clear his head. He stumbled up the stairs and into the flat and dropped his coat on the rack, taking note that Sherlock's was not there. He was out then. Good. Maybe the flat would be quiet and he could get rid of this headache. He cleared his throat and grabbed at his neck. He needed medicine and maybe some tea if he could stand long enough to make it. He cough repeatedly into his hand, groaning before making his way straight for the paracetamol. He swallowed them with some orange juice and returned to the living room, deciding he couldn't stand any longer. He grabbed the remote and sat down on the couch and waited until his medicine kicked in, unable to do anything else.

He had just covered himself with a blanket and started flipping through channels on the telly when Mrs. Hudson walked in the door with a feather duster in her hands.

She gasped and put her hand over her heart when she saw John.  
"Good gracious, John! I didn't hear you come in! Why are you home so early?"

John sighed, loosening the tightness in his chest.  
"Ah, just got a bit of a fever." He coughed into his hand again and crinkled his nose. He had brought up a bit of mucus. Gross. He reached for a nearby tissue and wiped it away.

Mrs. Hudson immediately looked concerned.  
"A fever? Oh dear, how high luv?"

He licked his lip and shook his head.  
"High enough to be sent home from work."

Mrs. Hudson tutted.  
"Oh John, you need to take better care of yourself."

John cleared his throat, cringing as the action felt as if he had started a fire in his larynx.  
"I thought I did."

"You have stretched yourself far too thin, John. You've been running around with Sherlock all night and going to work all day with no time to rest in between! No wonder you got sick! You need rest now, and maybe something for that fever. I'll tell you what dear, I'll make you some soup. How would you like that, luv?"

John just smiled. It was amazing how much Mrs. Hudson reminded him of his mother.

"That'd be lovely, Mrs. H." He sighed and sank further into the couch cushions.

Mrs. Hudson nodded.  
"You stay put, I'll fix you up some soup and some nice cold medication."

John did as ordered, coughing into his hand once more before pulling the blanket a bit closer.

Mrs. Hudson returned a few minutes later with a cup of warm tea and a measuring cup full of liquid cold medicine.  
"Here you are young man. Drink up."

He thanked her and took the medicine first. He couldn't help but cringe at the vile taste, but he made no complaints. He took the cup next, taking a sip and his eyes rolled back in his head in relief as it calmed his throat.

"That any better?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Gosh, yes." John sighed, his voice not cracking in the slightest. It was such a relief to talk without a white-hot iron in his throat.

Mrs. Hudson smiled.  
"I'll fix that soup, dear, you just sit there and rest."

John nodded and took another sip, feeling the honey's glorious effects working.

He sat his cup down for a moment, willing himself to savour his tea and not drink it all in one sitting, and then picked up his laptop and opened it. He clicked and scrolled through his blog, reading the comments below the posts.

The delicious aroma of broth filled the air. He smiled. His stomach rumbled and he actually felt a little hungry for the first time today.

"Oh my gosh!" He heard Mrs. Hudson cry from the kitchen. He looked up, alarmed, but he stopped worrying when he saw her holding up a bag of bloody thumbs. She held them up for John to see.  
"Sherlock needs to stop bringing these things in with him! It is unsanitary and I will not allow it into this flat!"

John laughed.  
"It's on his shelf. He said something about carrots and fingers dissolving or something to that effect."

Mrs. Hudson gasped and held the bag farther away from herself and dropped it back on the shelf.  
"Ugh, that Sherlock...where is he? He disappeared not long after you left for work, but he didn't say where he was going."

John shrugged, eyes drooping slowly.  
"Didn't say anything to me either. He did say something about a client this morning."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head.  
"No one came to the flat. He just left."

John shrugged again.  
"Probably had another case or went out to the morgue with Molly."

"Alright...well, your soup's ready dear!" She announced, pouring some in a bowl and grabbing a few crackers and walking over with a tray of lovely smelling food.

"Thanks Mrs. H. You are positively spectacular." He kissed her on the cheek as she placed the eat off tray on his lap.

"Anytime, luv. If you need anything else, I'll be just around here. I was going to dust out the bookshelves in Sherlock's room."

John nodded and tool a sip of the broth. It was truly amazing. Mrs. Hudson's cooking was, dare he say it, the best food he had ever tasted.

After he had finished the bowl he sighed in content. He felt much better now that the aches and pains had lessened and his head no longer felt like a ticking time bomb. He wasn't shivering and he had stopped sweating and feeling dizzy so he guessed that his fever had slacked off for now. He felt completely exhausted. Exhausted and surprisingly comfortable.

"Mrs. Turner next door has some special cough drops," Mrs. Hudson called from the bedroom, "They worked wonders when she had that terrible cough not too long ago. I could pop next door and get you some if you'd like?"

She was surprised when her question went unanswered. Curious, she peeked into the living room.  
"John?"

John had stretched out across the sofa, his head fallen forward so that his chin rested on his chest as he snored softly. Mrs. Hudson put a hand over her heart. The poor man was out like a light! She suspected the cold medicine had begun to work its wonders. She pulled his blankets up and put her hand to his forehead. A bit warm, but nothing deathly. She patted him on the shoulder and listened to him snore as she turned off all the lamps.

She decided he definitely looked better than he had before.

* * *

**A/N; looks can be deceiving. It will get worse before it gets better, John.**

**Sorry for the fluff, it demanded to be written. Because Mrs. Hudson is such a nice landlady, and I couldn't have John suffer the whole time.**

**Sherlock will be in the next chapter and will have to deal with a sick blogger. Oh dear.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! Sorry for the minor delay in posting, got a bit caught up. As always, thanks to all who review and favourite/follow! You are all awesome and your support is very motivating!**

**As promised, Sherlock is in this chapter. Oh dear. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer; I do not own anything here...Unfortunately.**

* * *

John jumped awake to the banging of a door, the sound causing him to flinch. His medication had long since left his system and he was surviving on rest alone to keep him well. He heard footsteps stomp up the stairs and knew it was Sherlock but didn't have the energy to speak to him. As long as Sherlock didn't notice him and left him alone he could fall back to sleep. He heard the front door creak open and opened one eye and squinted through the dark. Sure enough he saw a figure move across the room towards the direction of the back bedroom. Good. He was going to his bedroom.

Suddenly a light came on with a click.

John put his arm over his eyes.  
"Geez, turn'tha'off..." He slurred, his voice cracking. He coughed and groaned as it burned in his throat like he had swallowed hot coals.

Footsteps walked toward him and he could feel someone breathing over him.  
"...John?"

John rubbed his eyes and looked up, the harsh light now eclipsed by his flatmate.  
"Sherlock, what d'you want? I'm trying t'sleep."

"On the sofa."

John scoffed.  
"Duzzit matter where I sleep?"

Sherlock looked genuinely confused.  
"You never sleep on the sofa."

"I do tonight, 'kay? Just go."

Sherlock stared at him again, his gaze so intense John was worried it was going to burn a hole through his head.  
"You're shivering. And sweating." He observed aloud.

John sighed and rubbed his eyes, turning away from the light.  
"Yeah, brilliant. Goodnight."

"Photosensitive...do you still have a headache?"

"Yeah..."

"It isn't a migraine, you are highly sensitive to sound when you have those, which is rare. Pale complexion, hoarse voice...you're ill."

"Yeah."

Sherlock was silent for a few awkward moments before muttering a timid "...So?"

John sighed. He would really, really like to be asleep right now.  
"So what?"

"Would you require tissues or cough drops or something on that level?"

John sank further into the couch in exhaustion.  
"It's a fever, Sherlock. I'm just tired and I want to sleep."

Sherlock nodded and cleared his throat, licking his lips.  
"Oh...Good." he quietly stepped away and John heard the light click off and his bedroom door shut.

"Good?" John wondered aloud. What sort of reply is 'good'? He didn't have the energy to care. He closed his eyes and tried falling back asleep, but now that he was awake his chest and throat decided to act up. He coughed, bringing up a rather disgusting amount of mucus again. Only now he was convinced that it wasn't mucus and perhaps was molten lava. At least that would explain the painful burning in his throat. He sat up, trying to let his eyes readjust to the darkness. He looked at his watch (remembering that he never had the chance to take it off) and checked the time. 3:18 PM. He really wanted to go to bed. Wait, had he really fallen asleep on the couch? He didn't remember falling asleep at all. He double checked his surroundings. Yes, he was in the living room. He must have drifted off after Mrs. Hudson fixed him tea. Mmm, tea sounded brilliant right now. And it had done wonders for his throat. He looked hopefully at his cup, only to find it empty and the glass cold. He sighed and made his way to the kitchen, quickly putting the water on to boil before he sat in one of the kitchen chairs.

He rested his chin on his fist, noticing that his head was starting to ache again now that he had gotten his blood flowing. He shivered, coughing into his hand. He hated being sick. It was terrible, even if it was just a little cold. But knew he could carry on. He had to. He was a soldier, he wasn't going to let a couple of germs get to his system. But then again, he was also a doctor. He knew how badly a couple of little germs can get to you. He's seen it.  
That didn't mean he was going to give in.

It was true that the overall general feeling of sickness was enough to drive anyone insane but he, being an army doctor, carried on and refused to let it wear him down.

He stood and prepared himself some tea with the freshly boiled water, careful not to burn himself. The last thing he needed right now was to pour a kettle of boiling hot water all over himself. He was in enough misery as it is. He carefully blew on his warm drink to cool it down before he took a sip. As soon as the tea touched his throat he sighed, relieved it had the same affects as before. It was making him tired again as well, which was good. Maybe he could get a bit more sleep now.

* * *

John snapped awake again, coughing violently into his pillow. He could not stay asleep and the tea was no longer working. He was having coughing fit after coughing fit and they just seemed to be getting worse.

He turned on his side, hoping that would help clear his airways when he heard rustling about downstairs. Oh, great. He had woken Sherlock.

Deciding there was no use staying in bed if he was not sleeping, he grabbed his dressing gown (he was feeling a bit cold. His fever was sure to have risen again) and went downstairs. He had intended to do so quietly, because even though he had woken Sherlock he didn't want to wake Mrs. Hudson and he rest of Baker Street as well. Not everybody had to lose sleep because of him. The only thing wrong with his plan of stealth was that the floors creak terribly and he was still barking into his hand every few minutes. He only hoped the force of his coughing didn't cause him to trip and fall down the stairs.

He went through to the living room and found Sherlock opening his violin case, stroking the wood in admiration before noticing that he was no longer alone.

He lifted his instrument out of its case, plucking the strings to make sure it was in tune.  
"I did offer you a cough drop, but you declined." he sighed.

John licked his lips and scoffed.  
"Yeah, I didn't need one at that time." he said, his voice breaking in odd places due to the strain from coughing and painful burning sensation in his larynx. His hand automatically flew to his throat in surprise.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he took a clean cloth and wiped the horsehair string of his violin bow.  
"Losing your voice is a typical symptom of Laryngitis." he mumbled, sounding somewhat bored.

"I know." John squeaked, "I'm a doctor, remember?"

Gosh, why was speaking so painful? And when had his tonsils turned to fire? He coughed again into his hand and saw Sherlock tilt his head to the side.

"What other symptoms are you experiencing?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows pushed together.

But John was too busy coughing to answer. He tried, but that only resulted in more choking. He put up a hand as if to say 'one second'.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, as if John had chosen not to answer instead of being completely unable.  
"Your fever is anywhere between 38.5 to 40.0, you have severe sore throat and minor loss of voice, not to mention this incessant coughing which is most certainly causing headache and pain in the abdominal area, judging by the way that you are currently holding your stomach. What would be your choice of medication, doctor?"

John, who had (thankfully) stopped coughing, glared at him, but he didn't have the energy to be cross for very long.  
"Just...paracetamol and cough syrup..."

Sherlock nodded.  
"Yes, well...I'm sure you know where to find it."

John rolled his eyes.  
"Yeah, thanks."

He went to the kitchen and rummaged around until he found the medicines he was looking for. He gulped down a cap of the cold medicine, coughing afterwards. It was truly dreadful. Then he swallowed two paracetamol with some juice (having given up with the tea) and sat on the couch, wrapped in his dressing gown.

He turned the telly on and turned down the volume so he wouldn't wake Mrs. Hudson. He sighed, feeling completely exhausted. He then knew he had to thank Sarah, because there was no way he would be able to go to work at 6:30. Maybe he should ask her out again, take her to dinner and cinema as a formal thank you-

Suddenly John felt something hit his shoulder and he jumped, his eyes searching for the object that had been thrown at him.

It was a box of cough drops.

"You're welcome." Sherlock mumbled from across the room.

John licked his lips to hide the smirk that threatened to show on his face.  
"Thanks."

He put one in his mouth and sat back to watch telly.

* * *

**A/N Oh, Sherlock. Be nice!**

**Next chapter will be coming soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Ever have that one chapter that refused to be written? That was this chapter. I am** _**SO**_** sorry for the delay! Life caught up with me and writers block sucks! The next chapter should be easier, so I will try not to take too long again.**

**Anyway, here it is! Hope you like it!**

* * *

John put a cough drop in his mouth and continued to watch telly until he grew bored, which didn't take very long. Then he flipped through the channels to find something more interesting, only to realise that it was still a bit early for anything more than crap telly. Besides, he was coughing so loudly that he couldn't hear the programme anyway. Somehow, if at all possible, he was feeling worse. His fever was taking it's toll on him now and he shivered beneath his growing pile of blankets. His muscles were aching as if he had lifted weights all day instead of coughing up his lungs. His sinuses were starting to drain, but his main symptoms were still fever and a nagging cough.

He had a terrible feeling that today was going to be a dull repeat of yesterday.

Quickly growing tired of 'channel surfing' as he liked to call it, he noticed that Sherlock was still cleaning his violin bow and had not said a word since he threw a box of cough drops at John's head. After a while John became more interested in watching Sherlock than watching telly. He silently observed while Sherlock cleans every last hair from his bow and carefully took a dusting cloth to the back surface of his violin. Watching his flatmate focus on a task he was deeply engrossed in was sort of relaxing, like the relaxed feeling you get when you watch rain fall down a window.  
John nearly managed to drift back off when Sherlock suddenly stood from his cleaning session to walk to the kitchen and John could smell the bagels that Sherlock was making for himself. John swallowed, his stomach grumbling unpleasantly. He coughed and groaned as searing pain shot through his temple and he felt his eyes were about to pop out of their sockets.

It was mostly the headache that was ailing him now, excluding the cough of course. Every sound was the equivalent of a blaring siren, every light source was brighter than the sun.

So naturally Mrs. Hudson's footsteps as she walked into the flat sounded like gunfire and when she turned on a lamp the blinding pain was unbearable. He covered his eyes.

"Morning, boys." She whispered, keeping her voice low. She noticed John's current position, huddled on the couch with three blankets and a hand over his face. "Feeling any better, John?"

John chuckled silently.  
"Worse, actually." He croaked, voice barely above a whisper. Oh, and it hurt.

Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow, not able to understand John's nearly silent words.

Sherlock sighed and plopped down at the table by the windows to read the newspaper.  
"He's lost the use of his vocal cords. No doubt from the strain of his constant coughing." Sherlock said, nibbling on his bagels.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head.  
"Oh, poor dear. You need something for that cough, young man."

John grabbed his throat, trying a bit harder to speak up.  
"I've already taken medicine. Tea isn't working as well as it did yesterday." Ouch.

Mrs. Hudson tutted.  
"Sherlock dear, can you please hand me that thermometer?"

Sherlock looked up from his paper and rolled his eyes as he passed the digital thermometer over.

Mrs. Hudson smacked him on the arm playfully.  
"Don't roll your eyes at me, young man."

He looked up at her with a wide smile on his face before his lips quickly slipped back into his default frown, eyes going back to his paper.

"Good boy." She bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

"Here you are, dear." She passed the thermometer to John, who took it gratefully.

He slipped it under his tongue and waited, not knowing what to expect. It beeped, and he pulled it out.

38.1°

No wonder he felt like crap.

"Well, wonderful..." he mumbled to himself, voice cracking oddly.

Mrs. Hudson tutted again.  
"You need to save your voice, John. It'll come back faster if you do."

She handed him a yellow legal pad and a pen.

He raised an eyebrow and quickly wrote down one word.

**'thanks.'**

Mrs. Hudson smiled.  
"Anytime, Luv. Call me if you need anything."

* * *

He continued to communicate this way for several hours, occasionally texting when Sherlock wasn't in the room or just wasn't paying attention. Which was most of the time, as he was busying himself with his microscope, fiddling with droppers and files for hours at a time.

Growing curious as to what he was doing, John quickly scribbled a note on his pad.

**'Experimenting...no case?'**

Sherlock looked over to the paper, having seen John write from the corner of his eye.  
"Hmm, no. Lestrade hasn't given me anything. I was going to go to the morgue, but Molly conveniently decided to go on vacation and I have no access to the lab."

John nodded.  
**'Any clients?'**

"Nothing on the website."

**'Milk?'**

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"Text Mrs. Hudson."

John sighed, taking a moment to examine all of Sherlock's tools.  
**'What kind of experiment are you doing?'**

Sherlock looked genuinely confused. John rarely asked about his experiments, except to make sure there was no deadly chemicals in the tea pot.

"I am documenting different types of mint candies and how they dissolve or break in rain and mud, for example, on the bottom of a shoe."

John raised his eyebrows.  
**'Lovely.'**

Sherlock then turned and focused on his work. John knew that Sherlock wouldn't be much conversation if he had his full attention on his experiment, so he stood with shaky feet and walked to the couch turning on the telly and bundling in the blankets until his fever and headache lessened.

He should have known relief would not come that easily.

About an hour later Mrs. Hudson called Sherlock downstairs to help her repair stove or sewing machine or...something. John didn't quite catch what it was when they were talking, he was too busy coughing, hunched over with his hand digging into his stomach.

The pain in his head was unbearable now. He didn't care if he had been taking medicine every six to eight hours, he needed more now.

"Mrs. Hudson?" He tried to call out again. His voice was almost all the way gone. His loudest volume he could manage was a whisper, and a soft whisper at that. He literally couldn't make any sound and it was driving him insane, because all he wanted was some medicine and he felt so achy he didn't think he could stand and he couldn't call out.

He sighed and shivered as he went to get his things himself. Tugging his dressing gown together, he shakily stood and walked towards the bathroom, trying to calm his unsteady legs. Every part of him ached and throbbed as he managed to make it to the bathroom sink, only to start coughing uncontrollably again. Mucus came up and John rolled his eyes. He just wanted to take some medicine (after all, that was the reason for his little excursion to the bathroom) and sit down but he couldn't stop coughing. He waited and waited for it to stop but it never did. He just kept choking up mucus, coughing so hard his face was turning red, his vision was starting to fuzz, something unpleasant was making its way up his throat, burning as it came-

He quickly scrambled forward and vomited in the sink.

He coughed one last time to clear his airways and sat back, trying to settle his feverish body. He was shaking from the exertion of his choking fit and the resulting vomiting. He turned on the water in a futile attempt to clean out the sink. When it was mostly clean he rinsed out his mouth and washed his face, looking up into the mirror as he dried himself off. He looked positively peaky. Of course, he laughed at himself. You just vomited. You are dehydrated and haven't slept properly since Thursday. You have every right to be peaky.  
He cleared his throat and cringed, arm wrapping itself over his abdomen. His stomach muscles were sore from the constant coughing.

He straightened up and wiped some sweat from his forehead and opened the mirror cabinet for the medicine he came for. He took two tablets (fearful this was quickly becoming routine) and grabbed one of the little plastic cups they kept in the bathroom and gulped the pills down with a cringe, the dreaded aftertaste of vomit lingering in his mouth. He grabbed the toothpaste and his toothbrush, hoping to rid his mouth of the ghastly taste. He grabbed a cough drop on his way out, and wrapped his dressing gown closer to his body.

He opened the door to exit the bathroom only to find that Mrs. Hudson was just outside the door frame, having heard him from downstairs.  
"John?" She raised an eyebrow, shocked yo see him on his feet, "Are you alright?"

He swallowed and nodded.  
"M'fine...wanna lay down." He whispered, grasping at his throat.

"Dearie, why on earth did you get out of bed in the first place?"

He winced.  
"Medicine." was the only word he could manage.

"Why didn't you call me?"

He tried to answer verbally but couldn't make any sound. He sighed and pulled out his phone, typing a message. Mrs. Hudson gave him a few seconds to write it down.

He turned his phone around and showed her.

**[You couldn't hear me. Don't worry, I got the medicine anyway.]**

She tutted.  
"You go lay back down, young man. You can hardly stay on your feet!"

She led him to the couch and sat him down before resting her hand on his forehead.

She tutted again.  
"Look at you, burning up. I'll get a cold cloth."

"No!" Oh, he shouldn't have tried to speak. He reached for his notepad on the coffee table.

**'The sink'**

Mrs, Hudson raised an eyebrow.  
"What's wrong with the sink?"

**'Vomit. Couldn't make it to toilet.'**

"John! Are you alright?!"

**'I'm not nauseous, coughing just triggered gag reflex. I threw up. Happens.'**

"Oh dear, you need to go to the surgery!"

**"I'm fine, really-"**

"You could hardly breathe and you vomited! You need to see a doctor-"

"John's right." Sherlock butted in, having appeared out of nowhere to stand at the door and observe their little argument.

"What?" Mrs.. Hudson asked, confused.

Sherlock walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water.  
"John _is_ a doctor. He knows his symptoms. If he claims to not be nauseous and vomited out of reflex then his expertise is to be trusted."

"But Sherlock-"

"If you are truly worried I would suggest you get that cold cloth, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock rolled his eyes, snippy attitude bleeding through his bored demeanour.

Mrs. Hudson wordlessly rushed past him to fetch the cold cloth.

John sighed, but couldn't help but smirk.  
**'You didn't have to be rude.'**

"I wasn't rude, I was efficient. Drink this. You need fluids."

John chuckled, taking the glass of water from Sherlock's hands. He drank the whole glass in just a couple of sips and sat it down on the coffee table and listened as Sherlock pulled out his violin and began playing cheerfully while John reached for a book on the table.

Maybe he could finally get some peace.

* * *

**A/N: Really John? I don't think so**

**Next chapter will be up as soon as possible!**


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